


Untitled

by kyuchan



Category: GOT7
Genre: ????????? - Freeform, Gen, M/M, what did i write gdi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 11:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18030851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyuchan/pseuds/kyuchan
Summary: Prompt: Meeting in a graveyard when visiting the same friend and having never met each other before





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guanlinear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guanlinear/gifts).



> i tried uploading it before the deadline i swear but i made a mistake with my ao3 and it didn't send and ugh i'm so messy i'm sorry. I also lost this long ass a/n i did explaining what set out i had thought for this cuz 100% i didn't really manage to convey what my mind thought

The smell of smoke is already familiar to Bambam — he doesn’t smoke himself, the taste never sits quite right on his tongue and he can’t feel any of what they claim tobacco can do — but Jaebum isn’t that much of a smoker, the man only does it when he’s heavily upset. Did something happen? The cling of the metal chains and pin needles on Bambam's very fashionable jeans make such a loud, jarring sound at the terribly empty graveyard, the nearly nonexistent hairs on the boy's arms raise until he’s tensing up and shivering, at least the sound of dirt and leaves crunching underneath his thick army boots is satisfying and a little bit relaxing. 

Why the graveyard! Who ever wants to meet in a graveyard! An empty one, right in the closing of autumn, when the wind is chilly and the sunlight dies out too quickly for the boy's taste. It’s nearly six pm, there’s not a soul in sight and soon enough all he’ll have is those ugly looking lamps that still resemble old oil lamps from at least two centuries ago. It only adds to the creepiness. Anyway, the graveyard was Jaebum's idea, Bambam's mind supplies. It’s a cool place, edgy and usually empty, which makes it an even better space to drink and smoke or maybe have sex — like today, it was deserted enough Bambam is sure nobody would ever know some young adults desecrated one grave or two. Jaebum is always into these edgy, cool places fitting for grunge and goth subcultures. Bambam is just a young, easily swayed boy who wants to fit in, so of course he agreed to meet here, he wants to be cool, like Jaebum.

Slowly, the colors in the sky are changing to brighter hues of orange and yellow, it’s beautiful and silent and if only Bambam had his camera with him. The place might give him the creeps, but it’s also very photogenic. So his eyes wander, slowly so does his feet, mind and nose attracted all the way back to the whiffs of tobacco he felt earlier. He walks and walks, it takes him a good fifteen minutes to arrive where the scent is the strongest, to the smoking figure that should be Jaebum with his half lidded gaze and lazy smile. But as Bambam raises his head to meet the man's eyes, he’s shocked to find... someone else sitting on top of a cemented grave, legs crossed, with a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches thrown by his side.

Pretty almond eyes stare back at him, equally surprised. The man's dressed way too much like your everyday college student; a tshirt, old jeans and beaten sneakers. His hair is messy, nearly covering his eyes, his face is bare, although Bambam's mind does wonder how his lips are such a cute shade of pale pink. On the man's hand there’s a just lit cigarette, the paper burning orange and black at the tip. Brighter than the orange of the golden sky, but still a good shade. The silence between them stretches for a whole minute, and then another two, it gets unbearable to Bambam so he’s prompted to talk first, thich, glossed lips parting open as idle fingers play with the straps on his jacket. “Do you perhaps know Im jaebum?”

The man, who’s quite handsome by the way, definitely not cool or edgy, or, especially, fashion forward. But his face was just so nice to look at. The stranger blinks, as if he didn’t expect to be addressed, and it seems to take him a near full minute to nod his head and mumble a, “yes”, which is quickly followed by a, “I haven’t seen him since yesterday, though.” Bambam's face fall at that, and the stranger realizes, but there isn’t anything he can say about it.

“Ah. We were supposed to meet up today, here.” Bambam gives in, although disappointed at his friend, he can’t let this entire trip go to waste, if the man knows Jaebum he’s probably good people, right? With his quick reasoning and a need to get to know the normie smoker he steps closer, “my name’s Bambam by the way.” 

“Mark,” it’s the strangers immediate response, to which Bambam smiles a little and closes in, plopping beside Mark, but keeping a somewhat friendly distance. “Jaebum probably forgot, or is sucking his best friend's dick.” The strangers grumbles while stubbing the head of his just lit cigarette on the cement. Bambam doesn’t understand why, usually people would assume the boy is a smoker himself, with the way he dressed and the amount of black liner he wears. “You probably don't mind, but I don’t like making strangers my second-hand smokers,” Mark supplies, the man seems way too perceptive, or maybe Bambam's far easier to read than he thought. Bambam turns his head to meet Mark's gaze and the man smiles briefly, the man's response and smile had Bambam chuckling. 

“Thanks? What’re you doing here, if I may ask. You don’t look like... yknow.” The type of people that would hang out at a cemetery, Bambam's mind supplied what he couldn’t bring himself to speak, and it takes him by surprise the chuckle coming from Mark.

Mark looks around, taking his cigarettes and matches to shove on his jeans pockets, figuring he wouldn’t be able to smoke now that he’s got company, “the dead make for a better company than the living,” the man says, and maybe it’s the way he said it, tone soft but knowing, or maybe it’s the words themselves, Mark goes on again before Bambam can overthink it, “me and Jaebum used to hang around here, it’s quieter. We like the quiet.” 

Silence follows, since Bambam can’t quite work out a reply or another question to make, and the quiet seems befitting to Mark, where only the ambience can be heard. It’s quite the contrast from what Bambam is used to, loud music and the speeding cars, people talking over the screeching guitar and loud, loud laughter is what he knows and is used to. He feels like fighting the silence right now, he’s not used to it. He's not used to making friends in a graveyard too, sitting down on cold concrete as the skies change from burnt orange to pinks and lilacs and dark blues. It makes for a pretty sight. Mark seems to think the same thing since he too stopped to stare at the sky, even if only for a short minute. Bambam parts his lips open, gloss sticky but not unbearably so, and purses them again. What to say? Where’s the conflict, why’s he here, pursuing a pointless conversation with a beautiful stranger? Mark disrupts his loud thoughts with another rumble of quiet, quiet laughter. 

“Didn’t think you’d be a quiet one.” 

Bambam too, didn’t think himself as the type to stay silent, to only observe. He spluterred with shy energy and naive curiosity everywhere he went, it’s what made Jaebum so protective of him, what had so many people charmed with him and his cute accent whenever he spoke too fast. But now, the right words, that one interesting thing to say that could make Mark interested in him too just wasn't coming to his mind. He opts for another approach;

“What is there to say?”

Mark purses his lips and shrugs, for a man so poorly dressed, he sure seems to have it all figured out in his mind, there’s just something about the other that screams confidence and peace, “what are you doing here? Why’re you meeting up with Jaebum?” And before Bambam can even take a breath to reply Mark goes on, “how old are you,” at this point Bambam's pretty shiny lips are pursed in a pout, his big, round eyes lined heavily with black staring at his own lap, hands fiddling with the multitude of rings he wears, “and, do you want to grab some coffee on our way back?”


End file.
